Prattle and musings from the people in my head. (And from my little sister's head, too.)
In My Time of Dying
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Here's a short, poignant, and to-the-point draft found in the back-end of Bill's blog. (Originally just included the lyrics. For you Led-heads out there, I inserted the audio!)
We didn't talk about Bill dying a whole lot...a bit here and there, but he dropped this into his drafts on August 29, 2020, nine months before he died. It was on his mind. (How could it not be?)
I find this to be a perfect song for the occasion of his "time of dying" and now here in the aftermath...he DID do so many of us good, and left so many smiling faces, so many traces. He spoke about his stories as "traces" a few times toward the end, and now I see where that word came from. ~ Laura
In my time of dying, want nobody to mourn All I want for you to do is take my body home
Well, well, well, so I can die easy Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus, gonna make up, sure know Jesus, gonna make up my dyin' bed
Meet me, Jesus, meet me Oh meet me in the middle of the air If my wings should fail me, Lord Oh please meet me with another pair
Well, well, well, so I can die easy Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus, gonna make up Somebody, somebody Oh, oh Jesus gonna make up Jesus gonna make you my dyin' bed
Oh, Saint Peter, at the gates of heaven Won't you let me in I never did no harm I never did no wrong
Oh, Gabriel, let me blow your horn Let me blow your horn Oh, I never did, did no harm
I've only been this young once I never thought I'd do anybody no wrong No, not once
Oh, I did somebody some good Somebody some good yeah Oh, did somebody some good yeah I must have did somebody some good yeah Oh I believe I did
I see the smiling faces I know I must have left some traces
And I see them in the streets And I see them in the field And I hear them shouting under my feet And I know it's got to be real Oh, Lord, deliver me All the wrong I've done You can deliver me, Lord I only wanted to have some fun
Hear the angels marchin' Hear the' marchin', hear them marchin' Hear them marchin', the' marchin'
It's got to be my Jesus Oh, it's got to be, it's got to be my Jesus it's got to be my oh it's got to be my Jesus Oh take me home Come on, come on I can hear the answer, sing it Oh, here they come Here they come Here they come Bye-bye Bye-bye Bye-bye Bye-bye Bye-bye Oh, feels pretty good, don't you? Pretty good, I feel (Oh, Georgina)
Oh, yeah Oh, I see him Come on (Take it)
Oh, don't you make it my dyin', dyin', dyin' Cough, "that's gonna be the one, isn't it?" "Come have a listen, then" Oh yes, thank you
Bill in one of his favorite tee shirts, happy to be in India. 2017-ish. Bill's last stay at the hospital was a rough one, but thanks to a good friend, it had its highlights and left us a treasure. He'd landed in what he called "the Ritz Carlton with drugs" just a few weeks before his passing due to extreme nausea and unrelenting dizzingness. (Both his Hospice nurses and doctors strongly believe the cancer had finally taken hold in his brain, and these symptoms supported that suspicion.) While he generally loathed and feared the hospital during his three years with cancer--I think because he was afraid he would die there, and he did not want that--this time was particularly hard. He'd gone into the care of Hospice just 24 hours before we had to call 911 this last time, and the difference in his hospital experience was dramatic. No nurses coming in continually to check his vitals, no transport people showing up at all hours to whisk him away for another scan or te
Little known fact. I've been in more prisons than anybody I know. Never to jail though... to speak of. And it's true... unless some of you folks haven't been entirely honest. Now that I'm thinking about it, it's not just prisons. "State Hospitals" too! Made my Mama proud. I wrote part of this story on a web site called Quora. Quora is a social media site where people pose questions to an expectant group of other people who chime in with thoughtful replies. Usually, the folks doing the replying have some degree of credibility. You can't just make shit up. Well, you can. But you don't last long. Off with your head. Anyhow, The site has gone through big changes over the past couple years. Not good changes in my opinion. Now Quora pays people to ask dumb questions. And then troll other people for thoughtful replies. It's brilliant. All this to say... Here's what I wrote. And after, what I didn't write. What’s it like to visit a prison? Bill
The following post was in Bill's blog drafts when he died. He wrote it on January 29, 2020. Laura's addition/ reflections are at the end. Enjoy! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wow. Where has the time gone? Seems like only a year or so ago since I put my pencil down on this one. I've forgotten what Part 2 was supposed to be about. And after re-reading Part 1 , I'm wondering what IT was supposed to be about, too. Ahhh, but small details like that won't stop me. I'm going to need some help toward the end of this. You'll see why. And don't forget... there's a Part 3. Man, I'm going to have to really pull something out of "my proverbial" for that one! Shew! I digress. The picture below was taken around 1974. That's my stepfather (his name was Dad) and my sister Laura. Mom and Dad had recently decided to quit dragging us kids around the country with their (working their asses off) seat-of-t
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